The McFadden Boys of Whipstaff Manor
by QuiteAlotOfSodaPop
Summary: During a regular session, Dr Harvey begins to uncover some interesting facts about the Ghostly Trio and their upbringing in Whipstaff. Unlocking a ghost's memory is a long and grueling process but Dr Harvey is determined to make these dead pranksters remember. Of course, do they even want to remember?
1. The Bare Bones

"Chapter 1 : Bare Bones."

**Note: _Italics_ = Memories or thoughts.**

Dr James Harvey tapped his pen against the hardwood desk. Deep in thought, he couldn't recall having a more difficult set of clients. It normally took three weeks of sessions before his patients felt that they could move on. These particular patients however had just completed their second month. Two long, annoying, hair-pulling, bad smelling, attempted murdering months of trying to simply convince them to cease haunting as they pleased.

Needless to say, after nearly 45 minutes of their usual mischief, Dr Harvey was beginning to lose his patience.

"So fellas." he began cautiously, not wanting to say something that could spark another 'disruption'. "As you may know, me and my daughter have been... assisting your journey to stop haunting for quite some time now. And as far as I can see, we've made little to no progress. Any thoughts?"

"Does my ectoplasm make me look fat?."

"Are you a natural brunette?"

"Do you know what happened to the remote? I lost it after _Dallas_."

Dr Harvey planted his face onto the desk in defeat as the three apparitions cackled from their chairs. These three were like talking to a pile of rocks. The spiked kind that were all ways at the bottom of a waterfall.

"All right. I think that's enough for today." he stated, gathering his pen and paper into the desk drawer, as if the trio would be deterred from tossing about the study.

"Aw c'mon Doc!" Fatso whined, jabbing a finger towards the broken grandfather clock. "You haven't even been here an hour!"

"Could it be that we've finally...broken you?" Stinkie asked in amazement, a buck toothed smile stretching across his face.

The three brothers turned to give each other excited celebratory handshakes, loud ragtime music mock fireworks going off behind them.

"We did it boys! The war is over!" The eldest brother, Stretch cried in 1940's accent, wiping away a ghostly tear.

Dr Harvey had yet to understand just how the trio were able to create these strange spectacles, though he guessed it as being an addition to their mild shapeshifting.

"No you have not 'broken me'." he said firmly. This seemed to shut the ghosts up as their music and fireworks ended abruptly. They glared at the psychologist with disdain, daring him to even suggest another session. "Although I feel... disappointed by today's progress, it is my duty as a paranormal psychologist to help all three of you, including your nephew, into completing your unfinished business."

"There ain't no business to be finished." Stinky scowled, his arms folding across his chest like a pouting child.

"'Sides Doc, we don't know what side we'll end up on. We haven't been exactly saints since we died." Fatso, the youngest brother, seemed much more worried by this thought then his siblings, who nodded in agreement but didn't dwell on the matter.

"Whether destined for hell or paradise Doc, we got a good deal being ghosts." Stretch rose a foot above the doctor in a threatening stance. " We ain't looking for a golden ticket into heaven."

"What if one of us don't pass on? There can't be a Ghostly Trio if you only got one of 'em!" the middle McFadden child argued. "Not to mention what will happen to bulb-head if we go."

"That's an unusual display of concern for your nephew. You don't normally bring him or any other family member up." Dr Harvey felt something spark, as if he just found a frayed wire in these spirits' memories. Most ghosts didn't remember much of anything post-mortem either through trauma or denial. Bringing up these three's family could prove fruitful.

"Eh. Kid needs a mentor." Fatso shrugged, shifting his place on the overstuffed armchair. "He never really had anyone since his Ma passed."

"Casper's mother?"

"Greatest dame you could ever meet." Stretch nodded affirmatively. After a few seconds he began to scowl. "Wasn't anything like our Ma. Ours was a demon."

"Careful there brother. She might come back and haunt us out of spite." Stinkie shivered to add to the effect.

James sat down once more, thinking that any nugget of truth could be worth his time. Straightening his rumpled jacket, he readied a pen and paper. "How exactly did the McFadden family come to be? Not often that a family as... exuberant as yours simply appears out of nowhere."

The three ghosts scratched the back of their necks thoughtfully. The simple question seemed to completely stump them. Whether they honestly didn't know or it was an effect of being dead for so long.

"I... " the eldest began, his voice catching in his throat. "Don't remember. I haven't even thought of Ma till now."

"Dad had a really long moustache right?" the youngest recalled, digging through his brain for anything of use. "And J.T tried to imitate him but it grew really wrong?"

"Oh yeah!" Stinkie recalled, snickering. "Remember that time me and Stretch shaved it off just before that date with Casper's Ma?"

"Now I do!" Stretch laughed, but not in the way he usually did. While the trio's usual amused noises were loud cackles and honks, this was more like a breathless chuckle. A laugh at things long since past.

The three brothers took on a more friendly glow to them, obviously placated by nostalgic memories. Dr Harvey cheered internally. _Finally a breakthrough!_

"Did you three by chance grow up in Whipstaff?" he asked the most vanilla question he could muster. Anything too invasive could spell trouble (or a ruined batch of laundry).

"Course we did. Every McFadden was born and raised here. Right back to Great Grandpa Hamish." Stretch stared at the Doctor as if he was questioning their family lineage. "We was all born here, we was all raised here, and we all died here."

"You must have a significant attachment to the manor then. It's hard to leave the only home you've known." James' eyes darted away, trying to push away a similar experience from his thoughts. "What do you remember of your early life? When you were all still flesh and blood."

The ghosts all sat in their chairs, hunched over in thought. Stretch held his hand under his chin, staring off into distance with an angry frown. Fatso's eyes occasionally lit up but fell back into confusion, the memories zooming past his mind. Stinkie was having the worst of it, after half a minute he covered his ears with his hands and started groaning at a brewing headache.

"_Now this is an interesting reaction."_ James pondered. _"It seems as though remembering is their greatest obstacle, to the point of psychosomatic pain. Surely their years of afterlife haven't erased everything has it?"_

"Holy Kibosh..." Stretch mumbled, his violet eyes widening. "I freaking remember! We all used to be tiny and made of flesh."

The doctor smiled in triumph, close to cheering out loud. "And what do you remember?"

"I remember... " he began.

_All four of the McFadden boys were brought into the world on April 1st. Not in the same year mind you, Ma wasn't Wonder Woman after all. There was at least one or two years in between brothers, but the coincidence was simply to bizarre not to be mentioned. At least it got them an article in that week's Sunday paper._

_Stephen 'Stretch' McFadden was born at midnight exactly 37 weeks after the marriage between Master Jonathan McFadden and Mistress Margaret McFadden n_ée_ Crittenden. Due to his rather early birth, every member of the extended family were convinced that he was a hell-bound bastard child conceived out of wedlock, but being irrefutably polite they didn't say a word. This set the tone for most of Stretch's upbringing._

_Stewart 'Stinkie' McFadden was born in the wee hours of the morning a year later. Ma McFadden was going to the privy when her second child decided to make an appearance. It took two hours before the young mother realised that she didn't have bad constipation. Stinkie would always be teased by his brothers for being born in (and smelling like) a toilet._

_Fredrick 'Fatso' McFadden was born in the afternoon during his brothers' birthday party (Stretch was 3, Stinkie was 2). According to Father's stories, both elder children had become upset that the event was interrupted and tossed cake at the obstetrician. Fatso came into the world through a Caesarean birth, two weeks too late and weighing in at nine pounds, poor Ma didn't stand a chance. Luckily she survived the procedure but the physical trauma made her swear that she'd never have another child. At least that's what they were told when they grew older._

_Which brings us to the trio's earliest memory together. The very night of their birthday, they heard maids and butlers and midwives and doctors rushing around the manor. The brothers broke out of their shared bedroom with ease and began stumbling their ways down the halls. Ma and Father had been acting funny for a real long time now. Ma was knitting small powder blue hats, Father was going around telling his friends "'bout time we had a girl", and the room Fatso used to live in was completely refurbished with dainty furniture and toys._

_Being careful to avoid one of their many nannies, the boys made sure that the coast of clear before making their way into the West wing of their labyrinthine home._

_With Stinkie dragging their chubby two-year old brother behind them via a blanket, Stretch was the first to the reach their parents' doors. Only able to see through the gap under the door, he could make out the vague image of mother and father sitting on their bed, Ma holding a small bundle._

"_I'm sorry dear." He heard Father sigh. "Seems that we have produced another boy."_

"_I was so hopeful that it would be a girl this time. After what happened with Fredrick..."_

"_No worries dear. The statistics of gender is 50/50 and we have loaded dice. Then again father said it was bad luck to only have one of the the two."_

_Silence reverberated across the room. Ma shifted so that she was lying on the bed, passing the bundle to her husband and mumbling about meaningless things._

"_If all else fails we'll give two to our cousins the Addams. Sure they won't mind a few extra boys." he joked, gently rocking the bundle in his arms._

_Those words froze the peeping tom's blood into ice. Ma and Father didn't want them? Being small children with no grasp of sarcasm and/or jokes, they tended to take what Father said as the gospel truth._

"_What's hap-nin'?" Stinkie asked, still trying to master his speech. "What they say?_

_Stretch got up from the floor and stood tall over his brothers. He placed his hands on his hips like he'd seen Ma and Father do when they were bossing someone around. His younger brothers winced, knowing that this gesture meant business._

"_They wanna get rid of two of us to make room for what's in there." He jabbed his thumb at the door, teeth clenching as he could make out the coos and babbles of **IT**. "And as eldest, I am ob-obli-... contracted to stay and take care of it."_

"_How come youse have ta stay?" The middle brother yelled, letting go of the blanket trailing behind him. "Maybe they don't want you cus' your too old."_

"_No way! They don't want you or Fatso over there cus' you stopped being cute. Plus ya stink like a rotten potato."_

"_Youse take that back! I'm still cute!"_

_The two eldest brothers tackled each other to the ground, kicking, punching, and on Stinkie's half biting. From his blanket Fatso gave screeches of encouragement, like he was watching two gladiators duke it out in the ring. As the brothers' fight raged on outside, the double doors to the room swung open, revealing their father._

"_Boys! Cease this immediately. You will wake your brother." Father was a no-nonsense man of good breeding who never in his recollection rough-housed or argued with his siblings, which made the animosity between his sons all the more confusing for him._

_Grabbing them by the scruffs of their nightclothes, he tucked Stinkie under his arm, while Stretch was thrown over his shoulders. Leaning down with utmost patience and balance (difficult when you have two toddlers kicking and screaming down your ears) and scooped up his now second-youngest son._

_All three hit their father with tiny, ineffectual fists and screamed like the dead. This did not deter him however and he opened the door of their bedroom with his foot. Plopping each child onto their respective beds, he stood tall with hands on the hips as his son tried to imitate._

"_Boys I am very disappointed in you. Being awake after bedtime, wandering the castle without supervision, rough-housing, and around your baby brother no less!"_

_Fatso rolled down the length of his bed before landing on his stomach. "Ay-hm here!" He piped up, thrashing his chubby limbs._

_Father looked unamused and relaxed slightly. Rearranging his son so that he was sitting up right. "It is not you to who I refer. Your mother and I have... created a new brother for all of you."_

"_And you want two of us gone right?" Stretch scowled, kicking the blankets off his bed. "I ain't going."_

"_Not me either!"_

"_Nope!"_

_Father chuckled warmly, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "None of you are leaving. I had merely jested to your mother that we had an unusually high amount of male children. We had been expecting a girl you see and this is likely the only time your mother can have a baby."_

"_Sooooo... one of us has to be a girl?" Stinkie misheard, sharing confused glances with his brothers. "I ain't doing it!"_

"_Only if I still get the family bis-ness." Stretch bargained with a smug grin._

"_Girls?" Fatso mumbled confusedly, having not yet grasped the idea of genders._

"_Boys! Boys!" Father silenced them with a wave of his hands. "I did not mean we need a girl, simply that we would have preferred one. But we will still love you all equally, your new brother will not impact or change mine or your mother's feelings for you. Is that understood?"_

"_Yes, Father." The brother replied in half-understanding, reshaping their blankets and pillows for bed._

"_Goodnight boys." Father said from the door. "You will meet your little brother tomorrow morning. Hopefully you will all behave around him."_

_With that he closed the door, making sure to lock it this time._

_The next day the three McFadden boys were introduced to Jonathan Thomas McFadden, the youngest of all four brothers. The utterance of his full name would leave a bad taste in the trio's mouths for years to come._

"Jonathan-Thomas." Dr Harvey said absent-mindedly, immersed in the detailed memory. "That would be Casper's father yes?"

"Yeah." Fatso confirmed, his eyes narrowed in discomfort. "You know what our dad said was a lie."

"Which part?" the psychologist asked carefully, he still didn't have a clear picture of their childhoods but from the bare bones of it he could tell they harboured some venom against their youngest brother.

"They didn't love us equally." Stretch growled, his violet eyes glowing brighter than usual. "Tell me Doc, isn't it tradition for the eldest son to inherit the dad's name?"

"In many old money families yes." James could see where this was going. It was likely that the McFadden parents held a not-so hidden favouritism for their youngest child.

"Then how come J.T got his name?"

The room became deathly (pardon the pun) silent. All three ghosts adorned angry frowns and furrowed brows at the memory of the forth McFadden brother. Dr Harvey could sense that today's session had gone on too long, judging by his watch they have been talking for at least two hours.

"I think... " He said clearly, drawing the ghouls' attention. "We have done enough for today. Thank you with sharing that with me. I hope we can meet tomorrow and discuss more but do not hesitate to tell me if a new memory resurfaces."

The three ghosts mumbled in half-hearted agreement, floating through the walls into the parlor room, leaving a gust of coldness behind them. Dr James Harvey slumped in his chair, taken aback by all the information he received. Perhaps mentioning family really was the ticket.

Of course some of the information was things he could have dug through the town's public records for, but it helped that the ghosts had placed at least some trust in him.

Perhaps next session he should ask about their parents and relatives. They seemed reluctant to tell him anything about them. Then again he wouldn't want to be too aggressive in his method less he lose whatever trust he gained. He'd bet that recalling all of that significantly drained them in energy.

A large old blanket fell onto his head and completely covered the doctor with a musty odorous layer of dust. A cackling laughter from above his head proved his theory wrong.


	2. Facts Concerning The McFaddens

"Chapter 2 : The Industrial Facts Concerning Jonathan McFadden And His Family"

Stewart 'Stinkie' McFadden was staring at a drill.

He had been staring at it for a very long time before a light bulb _dinged!_ above his head. The Doc had called some repair guys over earlier that week in order to fix areas of the dilapidated manor. The Ghostly Trio thought the disarray was completely fine. Sure there was no hot water, the floorboards would give away, the carpets held over a hundred years of mould, and literally everything was covered in dust, but it was home.

The Doc got real ornery when the three ghosts attempted to spook the repair guys away, and after chasing them down the halls with a vacuum cleaner he bargained that either the ghosts stayed out of the way or be trapped in the vacuum bag for an entire week. That was diplomatic enough.

Now in the after hours, the contractors had left their equipment scattered everywhere, intending to utilise them in the morning. Which leads us to Stinkie staring at a drill.

Stinkie wouldn't say he was a gadget geek, but he was the most technologically savvy of the brothers. Growing up surrounded by kooky Edwardian breakthroughs excited him more than anything, except probably for Limburger cheese.

Now that he thought about it, he wondered what sparked such a fascination in the first place.

_Jonathan Thomas McFadden inherited his business from his father, Jonathan McFadden, from his father Thomas McFadden, and his from his father and uncle, Hamish and Archie McFadden._

_Both brothers were of Scottish stock and left their homeland at the tender ages of six and five respectively. Settling in Friendship, Maine – at that point a factory district – their parents hurried them to attain the ultimate American dream. Build your own business and pass it along through nepotism._

_When the two scraped enough together to create **"McFadden Brothers' Industries"**, there were a few teething problems. While Hamish settled just fine into the passive aggressive world of industrial wealth, Archie didn't roll very well. His practical jokes and disturbing interests went unappreciated in the White Anglo-Saxton social circle. He went away for a while, leaving the business in the his older brother's capable hands, and returned years later mutually-madly in love with a large vampiric beauty of mixed origin known as Lacrimare Addams. For some strange reason most of the upper-crust fled in terror at the sound of her name._

_It was certainly a happy combination, but not one the McFaddens approved of. Still trying to keep their fragile reputation, his parents and his brother aggressively dismissed his chosen bride. Archie was given the ultimatum : Dump the girl or loose his share of the business. He disappeared mysteriously that night and a few days later the wedding invitation tumbled through the letter box. It would be three decades before the brothers spoke to each other again._

_Meanwhile **McFadden Industries** (the 'Brothers' was dropped for obvious reasons) boomed. If there was anything Hamish thanked his brother for, it was for investing in the coal and steel sector. Hamish himself was interested in branching out into transport, so when the early experimental stages of railway travel were needing extra scrap and fuel, Hamish McFadden's pockets were fit to burst._

_Hiring the most expensive contractors he knew to create the most expensive manor imaginable (passive-aggressively nicknamed 'Whipstaff' as a nod to the way he worked his men to the bone), Hamish planned to drown in his wealth. Only one thing was missing – a nice gal. There was certainly a line of young desperate ladies with whom he shared interest. But he desired a strong erudite wife with the ferocity he so missed about Scotland. Finally as he reached his later years he found the perfect woman, a New Jersey oil and waste mogul named Lotta Verbinski. After the mandatory courtship period they quickly agreed to marriage. The only thing he would complain about was her god-awful body odour gained from her free reign of the factory floor._

_Their eldest son, the adored jewel atop the family crown, Thomas McFadden, took the reins of the company very clumsily. A boy of weak frame and mind, he certainly wasn't ready to inherit the business. At the tender age of 20 he lost his father and mother to an outbreak of the White Death. The blow had been tremendous to the young lad, coddled by his mother and boasted by his father, he had never anticipated actually losing either person. He wasn't allowed see them at their deathbed._

"_Tuberculosis is too dangerous for a boy like him." he overheard his father say in-between retching coughs. He never even learnt what his parent's last words were, they choked on their own mucus before anyone could ask them to repeat they had said._

_**McFadden Industries** was almost eaten alive. Thomas struggled to balance the company along with his wife (a money-fallen Irish lumberjill named Siofra Barclay) and three rapidly hungry mouths. His siblings were busy running their mother's businesses all the way in Atlantic City and had no intentions to feed a dead scrap company. He saw no solution in sight, except to contact his extended family and ask them for assistance._

_Not in those words mind you. There was a subtlety to this action. Uncle Hadrian needed a few carpets moved, Cousin Who (from the Addams side of the family) needed somewhere to hide his collectibles, and Aunt Miasma had some herbs and spices that needed to be guarded during their transport. Word spread quickly through the very deep underground that a certain McFadden was willing to do anything to keep his father's manor. And so the grime accumulated in Whipstaff._

_Supposedly cursed relics and stolen artefacts made their way into some of the many storage rooms of Whipstaff, along with some objects that were less than honest. Thomas quickly learnt that some of the hard money was in warfare. Needless to say when the Civil war broke out he found himself richer than he had ever been, but became morally bankrupt. Whipstaff for what ever reason was infected with prison cells and rooms of negotiation in it's bowels. When an associate tried to back out of a deal, Thomas McFadden made them see it through, less they be found weeks later mangled and putrefying the riverbed._

_His wife grew fearful of her husband and demanded that he step down from his place at the company. When he struck her multiple times and gave threat that he would leave her for a pretty blonde a third of her age, she took action. No one truly knows how Thomas McFadden perished. His gravestone has been eroded clean by years of rain, bird droppings, and deliberate vandalism by his own children. The public health records tell that he was extremely feeble as he neared the ancient hallmark of 45 years old and passed away through the old nugget of a heart attack as he slept peacefully in his bed._

_Then again all who knew Siofra were aware that she spent a few years in nursing school, and still kept a collection of syringes and bottles of strange bitter mixtures in her sewing room. After the day her husband tragically passed on, one bottle was permanently misplaced._

_From upon his father's (secretly anticipated) expiration Jonathan McFadden took hold of **McFadden Industries** with a smile and a handshake. Eager to shake off Thomas' cruel reign, Jonathan divided the company between his two other siblings (Frederica and Albert McFadden) so to avoid absolute power. His siblings were overly interested however, meaning that Jonathan could only leave the company for small bursts of time before one of them took complete control._

_Soon he took upon the drive of his Grandfather, the passive-aggression of his Mother, and the jokes of his Granduncle. With trains and automobiles going from New York to San Francisco, there was no rest for business and certainly no rest for Jonathan McFadden. Even in his spare time you could find him tinkering with a radio that he claimed never went loud enough, repairing a perfectly fine table leg he said was wobbling, or on top of the dangerous roof of the manor scoping out for loose shingles. He walked the halls of Whipstaff with a screwdriver in his left pocket and a small hammer in the other._

_This grand ability (and arguably an obsession) to keep things neat and optimally functional passed on to his four sons, which unfortunately bred their desire to keep them broken and dirty._

Stinkie lifted his finger from the drill's trigger and looked at his work in pride. Every single board on the winding staircase had been repaired, every nail and incision made perfectly as if they had never been harmed. If he had sweat glands, his clothing would be soaked through by now.

"What in the name of disarray did you do?" his eldest brother squawked angrily, descending from the ceiling. "I thought we'd agreed on no messing with the fleshies!"

"We did but I got the urge to fix things." Stinkie dropped the drill and other hardware equipment like they were hot brimstone, accidentally damaging the wood of the bannister in the process.

"We're ghosts stink-breath! We like things being not-fixed. What urge could possibly make you want to do the opposite?" Stretch glared at his younger brother, unconvinced that there wasn't multiple stink bombs embedded into the stair case.

"I... remembered somefin' about Dad." Stinkie stared at the ground like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Stretch's scowl fell into a more relaxed state as he caught on what was happening. "Remember when we was small fleshies and he hated these stairs? Every time he got the chance he'd-"

"-Tear it up and still swear there was a creak..."

The two floated there in silence, only the distant sound of the Doc snoring in his room and Fatso's TV playing a mindless late night crime drama was heard.

"Should we get the bulb-head to re-loosen these things?" Stinkie asked cautiously, twiddling his fingers. Stretch sighed tiredly, running his hand over his face.

"Nah. They'd just get fixed again anyway. Next time we're with the Doc we'll bring up the whole 'cat's in the cradle' thing."

Later that week James Harvey had to embarrassedly dismiss the contractors as a paranormal phenomenon had blown through the house and fixed literally every kink and leaky sink. He thought that Casper may have done it but when the friendly ghost was asked, he claimed that he'd done nothing. The Doctor had to chalk it up to helpful magical creatures and never thought for a second that three certain ghosts had hand for craftsmanship.


	3. Barmbrack

"Chapter 3: Barmbrack"

The largest of the three beds rocked and creaked with the motion of it's occupant rolling over in his sleep. Fatso was being plagued by dulcet tones and twirling notes as he slumbered. No amount of covering his metaphorical ears could cease the noise. The music even seemed to muffle the sounds of the wonderful storm brewing just outside the bedroom window.

The third McFadden groaned loudly, gaining two muted **'Shaddup'**s from his dozing brothers. Stinkie and Stretch had been up late for god only knows what. The distant whirls of power tools and banging of a hammer were enough to stir him most upset from his dream land. He'd been dreaming of a long forgotten feast hall he visited when he'd reached his 50th year dead, but now ever since the others not-so quietly snuck back into their beds he was pestered by a musical imp and the images of a large roaring fire.

Throwing off his sheets out of habit, Fatso angrily phased through his bed and into the parlor room. Hopefully the echoed thunder reverberating off the walls would drown out his dream. Parking himself upon a patchy, torn-up sofa, he tucked a round pillow under his head and tried to fall to sleep.

The thunder was definitely much louder in here, but was still being blocked out by an unknown filter in his mind. Even the sound of a tree in the garden toppling over and damaging a large granite statue didn't reach his ears. Nearly growling with rage, Fatso shoved two over stuffed pillows on either side of his head and tried again to fall into his dreamscape.

"_Man these shin-digs are boring." Stretch (at that time known as Stephen) complained, his eyes following the backs of passing women's dresses. "How come we had to go in the first place?"_

_It was a common situation. Jonathan McFadden would bring his maturing sons to the dinners and parties held by his family and friends despite their obvious hatred of such events and demands that they should be allowed to go home early. Monotonous drones of some subdued Mozart piece played in the back round as the ball room was filled with a dancing sea of skirts and tailcoats._

"_Likely because Father wants to make a good impression upon the other guests." Jonathan-Thomas, or informally "J.T", theorised taking a teetotal sip of wine. "Or their daughters." He took a much larger swing from his glass, his eyes growing wide with fear._

"_The very smell of these gals make me break out. You can't expect me to court one!" Stinkie wheezed, the harsh clouds of lavender, ambergris, and white makeup powder clogging his airways. He had very sensitive pair of lungs and the nostrils to match, making his discomfort very much visible. "If another flaps her fan in my face I'm out of here!"_

_Fatso wasn't paying attention to his siblings' worries. He was milling near the banquet tables, staring at the selection with disdain. Lady's fingers brushed with a very thin coating of sugar, raw Quail eggs meant for cracking over the hot hors d'oeuvre, sliced stalks of cold vegetables doused in vinaigrette, and clear crystal goblets of prawns soaking in a pink cocktail dressing._

_He despised all of it._

_His family made clear that they were wealthy and enjoyed the finer qualities of life. Even if they in his own opinion were unfulfilling. Foods were the most obvious. No fatty, smooth cut from the head of the bull, no they always needed the leanest shanks or nothing. A lobster broiled in an alchemical mixture of herbs while it still breathed sat on a sliver platter every Friday night, but the sight of an oyster or clam turned their heads away. A bitter and rancid-tasting wine worth more than himself burned his throat, and all he could beg for was a drop of sweet sharp cider produced down at the lumber mill every autumn night._

"_Anything you'd like Master Fredrick?" the mousey voice of the waiter asked, afraid of another shout from an indecisive aristocrat._

"_Yes, perhaps directions to where the actual food is kept." He joked, his eyes trailing over the many selections of caviar and roe. "Or a pile of lady's fingers if you can't."_

"_Very good sir." The waiter chuckled nervously, stacking a plate with the sugary goods. "Normally the cooking and serving staff eat after the banquet. In the grounds by the fruit orchard." His eyes looked pleadingly at the McFadden brother, his face told that the party had gone on for much longer than needed. "But we cannot leave until the guests have left."_

_Fatso thought this over and held up his hand to pause the waiter. "If the party where to suddenly disperse, would you all be left off? Hypothetically of course."_

"_Well yes. If the guests where to move into the parlor the housemaids would be responsible for serving food and drink."_

_A devious thought wriggled into Fatso's head. Looking over at his brothers, he could see that Stinkie was ready to go mad from the dull music and pestering dancers. "In that case I will also take a glass of kahlua and milk. After that there won't be a person left standing."_

_He took the large cup and the plate of lady's fingers happily. Weaving his way around the lines of dancing young heiresses and desperate old men, he made his way to his older brother._

"_I tell ya Freddy I can't even taste anything any more." Stinkie squinted to make sure it really was his brother, his eyes were swollen from what was likely an allergic reaction to one of his feminine suitor's perfumes. "That hooch?" He pointed to the cup in desperation. Fatso nodded and didn't even need to offer, the second McFadden brother had gulped down the contents with glee._

_Sighing loudly, his nose dripping and red. "That's the ticket! Bring me some more and I might just survive the night."_

"_But the others won't." Fatso thought evilly, going back to the banquet table with a sinister grin._

_The effect was almost instantaneous. Stinkie with his muted taste buds, could not detect the diary in his drink, which unfortunately for any surrounding guests, he was intolerant to. It started with a silent passing of gas. He grew more and more uncomfortable as his gut reacted negatively to the lactose intruding his body._

_No one could place their finger on it but the exquisite ball room was slowly being choked by an invisible evil. The first to notice was the Master of the House (who's name Fatso had long forgotten), subtly checking under the tables in case one of his hounds had wandered in. Soon every person, from scullery maid to millionaire were covering their faces and coughing very loudly._

"_Everyone!" The Master of the House bellowed from the orchestra platform. "It seems that a fowl odour has seeped into the hall. But no worries! We will continue our merriment in the parlor rooms and perhaps even discuss business."_

_They didn't have to be told twice. It took only five seconds for the entire hall to spill into the mansion's foyer and into the many social rooms. The other McFadden brothers excused themselves by saying that Stinkie had become ill from the occurrence, all knowing that their brother must have eaten something he wasn't supposed to._

_Fatso clapped his hands together in triumph before turning to the befuddled waiting staff. "You said in the fruit orchards correct?" He took a bite of a lady's finger as he enthusiastically helped to clear the tables._

_After the plates and left over appetizers where packed neatly onto serving carts to be taken into the mansion proper, Fatso followed the overworked waiters and butlers out into the garden. The grounds were much larger than the ones at Whipstaff, enough so that a private zoo, a stable, and a whole acre of fruit trees were accommodated. At first he only saw the low branches of a very foreign tree that sagged under the weight of it's bright yellow-green fruit, but as they snuck under it he saw a makeshift bonfire had been lit in the heart of the orchard._

"_Not many of our employers celebrate Halloween. Master Crittenden merely uses the party to cover his pagan roots." The now invigorated waiter spat on the dirt in disgust, the subject a hot button for him. "And soon we're told that no one in the manor is allowed to celebrate any 'devilish' holidays. Luckily he doesn't count the grounds itself."_

_Fatso felt rather uncomfortable listening to this. Halloween was always a welcomed holiday in Whipstaff, no doubt from the influence of his Grandmother's Irish pride, but he had heard that many of the more selective families dismissed it as being no more than a pagan feast day. The bonfire roared as more and more waste timber was added, the flames fenced in by large stone slabs around it's base. Four men in ragged robes played loud jaunty folk songs, many of them from Ireland, Wales, Scotland, and countries that Fatso didn't even know existed. Many of the female staff he had seen dressed up in pristine white aprons were now clothed in dark tunics laced with red string._

_Taking a cue from the head server, he sat down upon a fallen log, carved so to act as a bench. The first thing to catch his eye was the pretty scullery maid sitting across from him at a picnic table, her dark skin soaking up the orange flames beautifully as she conversed with the stable hand. The McFadden brother blushed embarrassedly, he was helpless when it came to women. More and more people gathered around the fire, some of them he swore must have come from different manor houses. Surely no home needed three head chefs?_

_He smelled the wonderful feast before he even saw it._

_The cooking staff, long frustrated by the dainty preparation of cold appetizers and easily failed dishes, were coming into the orchard with colossal steaming pots of various stews, large baking trays heavy with sweet speckled breads (one type Fatso believed was called Barmbrack), and decanters of, dear lord, the sweet sharp cider produced down at the lumber mill every autumn night. Hell he saw that a few of the mill workers were attending the tiny festival, still in their dusty work clothes._

_The moment the tables were set Fatso excitedly waited in line for a small bowl of rich heavenly stew. The beef was fatty and swam with sliced root vegetables in a heavy stock thickened with potatoes. The cooks stared at him in amazement, the son of a well known company head was looking at the cider as if it was nectar from the Garden of Eden._

_Eating slowly and silently (a first for him) he savoured the way the potatoes almost melted in his mouth, the way he chewed the softened beef, and he nearly reached nirvana as he finally consumed the long overdue cider. After he had licked the bowl clean he declared loudly "That was the best meal I've ever had!"_

_The staff cheered in reply, the three cooks puffed out their chests like large proud wood pigeons, hiding their delight at the compliment. He joined in with the small group of dancers by the fire, all re-enacting an odd jig that initially caused him to fall on his behind. Laughing off the slight pain in his backside, he was able to lose himself among the crowd after he was quickly taught the correct steps by the very same scullery maid that had sat across from him during his meal. Finally as the bowls were cleared away, the speckled bread , still hot from being kept near the fire, was portioned out in large slabs and passed along to each person. Fatso couldn't refuse when he had been gifted with a particularly large slice. They ate as they talked, their worries and woes of their lives had all but vanished under the half moon. Fatso thought to himself "This is what the fine things in life are all about."_

_Then he bit into the coin hidden in his slice._

"_Ow!" He yelped, pulling his mouth away from his plate. At first he thought it was a cruel joke placed upon him by a spiteful worker. But when he inspected the piece, he realised that he had found the silver coin. According to his Grandmother finding the coin baked into the bread meant that the recipient was meant for great fortune and wealth, and of course she rigged it so that she got the coin. Now that he was actually holding it in his hand, the McFadden wondered, he already had wealth and it was only through good fortune that he met these wonderful people. He didn't really need the coin._

_Mustering all of his courage he walked over to where the scullery maid was sitting and stood awkwardly in front of her. She and her companions looked up in surprise as he placed the warm silver disc into her palm._

_Bowing slightly he said with all of his courage and eloquence. "I do not need the good fortune this coin brings as my eyes found you before I found it." He blushed a purple-red, no matter how much he tried to impress a lady he would panic at the last moment. He couldn't understand how Stretch kept himself calm and collected when he flirted shamelessly with girl after girl. The maid and her friends laughed in a joking manner, at first Fatso was convinced that he'd completely blown it, but the warmth spreading across on his lips told him otherwise._

_Before he could even recover from the kiss, a loud voice loomed over the hill._

"_Hey Fatso! We're packing up and going home!" Stretch screech reached all over the orchard ground, finding the younger McFadden as he found heaven. Silently cursing his brother, Fatso shouted his goodbyes and galloped away so that the bonfire was merely a light in the distance. He collided with Stretch as he reached the top of the hill._

"_The hell where you all evening?" The eldest McFadden was looking extremely dishevelled, his hair was a mess and dark rings of tiredness lined the bottom of his eyes._

"_I ate with the workers, I was only gone for a few minutes." he explained breathlessly, his suit jacket barely holding onto his shoulders._

_Stretch stared at him like he'd gone mad. "You Dim-brain! It's past one in the morning! You've been missing for hours. Dad was thinking about sending out a search party."_

_Fatso blinked confusedly. "Hours? Guess time flies by when you're having fun."_

"_Glad you had a great time." Stretch's voice dripped with sarcasm. "But Stinkie almost gassed himself to death and dad keeps trying to pair me up with some sixteen year old airhead. You know how many socialites I can take before I crack?"_

_As the two brother made their way to their family carriage, Fatso relaid what happened during his night in the orchard. Stretch slapped him proudly on the back when he'd mentioned that he got a kiss from a pretty girl, and then cackled loudly when he learnt that she was charmed by such a corny line. As Stretch and J.T conversed about a girl they had met during a game of charades and Stinkie had fallen asleep against the window, Fatso sunk into the seating of the carriage, ready to take on tomorrow as if it was nothing._

_When he got home and fell into a soundless sleep, a horrible thought met him the next morning. "That maid... I never even asked for her name."_

_The make-shift Halloween party was discovered by The Master of The House the very next week. Firing nearly every single member of staff and employing much a more obedient (and non-pagan) work force, he had eliminated any chance of the younger McFadden contacting his new found friends. Or the the chance to share such fine memories and barmbrack with such fine people ever again._

A sharp tap on his shoulder made the large spook nearly jump out of his skin (if he had any). Looking around for intruders, he only saw Casper, standing close by and holding a tray of food.

"Uncle Fatso are you okay?" he asked sweetly, giving a small smile. "You were thrashing around for quite a while."

"I was?" He wondered, trying to decipher the sights and sounds his dream had conjured up. "What time is it?"

"Nearly one in the afternoon. You and the others must have been up late last night right?" the young ghost inquired, placing the tray down on the coffee table. The tray was piled high with doughnuts, bagels, and other sweet items that were more suited to desert than breakfast. Fatso for what ever reason, began to feel a strange form of disgust towards the plate of food and had something else in mind.

As Casper began to float away, Fatso held out his hand and said:

"Wait a minute short-sheet."

"Yeah?" His ever dutiful nephew answered, his ghostly head poking out from the parlor door. Something in the older ghost tugged painfully, as if the servers form his dream had manifested in front of him.

"What if we both go down into town get some raisin bread. I got a mighty hankering for it." He patted his stomach to emphasis his point, completely ignoring the tray on the table. As he passed by he placed his hand on his nephew's head as if he was tousling the hair that once laid there. Casper stood wide eyed at the sudden display of tenderness and wondered if Uncle Fatso was still half-asleep.

"How come?" he asked cautiously, expecting a counter active answer but was only given a simple:

"No reason. Just thought about it."

**Note: Pardon if this is a strange chapter. It was written while I had I bad fever. Please leave a review and suggestions for later chapters. :D**


	4. Less than Ideal

"Chapter 4 : A Less than Ideal Family"

Kat and Casper came across the photographs when they were searching the attic for decorations, as Christmas was creeping closer and closer. After getting more than enough clouds of dust puffed into her face, Kat was considering just going down to the store for some new ones. Then a wayward toy car fell of it's perch and hit something with a loud _**clunk!**_

The sound directed her to the ground where, hidden under a handkerchief was a large metal jewellery box. At least that was what it looked like. It was cube-shaped and looked more like a glamoured toolbox than anything you'd keep your gold and rubies in. Lifting it up, she was surprised to find that it was much lighter than expected and had very crude lettering engraved onto it.

"Property of Stewart 'Stinkie' McFadden. DO NOT TOUCH"

Beneath that in much smaller text was :

"That means YOU you nosey person"

Kat let out a small laugh. Although the Trio did get on her nerves, she was greatly amused by their antics. Whatever was in this ancient box was likely either a trove of boyhood toys, unusually shaped nature items such as rocks or sticks, or - because it was belonging to Stinkie - a couple hundred dung bombs.

Lifting the rusted latch just a small bit, she went in nose first to confirm whether or not the second ghost's toys were as pungent as expected. She was confused (and very relieved) when she detected no horrid smells of any sort but a faint whiff of must and chemicals. Pushing the lid all the way up she saw what was likely hundreds of tiny dark pockets. More puzzled than ever, she picked one up and slid it's contents delicately into the the palm of her hand. It was a photograph.

Now a photograph is very normal thing. The photo itself depicted three young men and a very small child at a fairground, despite being ridiculously well-preserved the background was blurry likely to the amount of motion going on behind the people being recorded. But what disturbed the young lady was the sheer number of the thin pockets simply resting in the box. It was likely that every single one was a photo of the four ghosts when they were still alive.

Looking at the fairground image again, she could make out that the three young men all had certain facial features that she recognised instantly. The tallest sported a comically large nose, to his right was a wild looking man with buck teeth, and to the tallest's left was a soft face man with a nearly spherical body. It was no doubt, these were the Trio in their prime. They didn't look bad either, although they looked just as strange and cartoonish as she knew them, the addition of skin, hair, and clothing was probably an attractive feature. The beaming little boy standing in front of course would have to be a certain friendly ghost when he was smaller. From the look on his face, the child was having a hard time standing still.

"What did you find?"

Her heart leaped into her throat and she almost dropped the photo.

"Casper!" She replied breathlessly. "I told not to sneak up on me like that. Did you find the Christmas decorations?"

The child ghost held a small wooden box in his pale arms. Smiling triumphantly, he showed off a few very beautiful bobbles and ornaments that were made of spun glass. "Yeah! I thought all of these were broken years ago! They survived pretty well." He leaned over and got a good look at what was in his friend's hand.

"Me and my uncles?" His voice became softer than usual and he stared at the metal case in astonishment. "You found Uncle Stinkie's picture chest!

"His what?" Kat raised an eyebrow. Going by the four ghosts' expiration dates, they wouldn't have been around for most of the photography medium. "You mean you had Polaroids back then?"

"Well, not really." Casper scratched the back of his neck embarrassedly. "My Grandfather made a camera that worked on the same principal but it was really heavy and the materials were really expensive. I guess he saw it as a failure and never did anything with it."

"Then how come there's so many?"

This left the ghost momentarily confused. There was certainly a lot of photographs, but Casper remembered that the chemicals used to develop the photos were ridiculously expensive and would have bankrupted any lesser man.

Casper shrugged in reply, placing the photo back into it's pocket. "I guess beyond rare and smelly cheeses, it was the only thing Stinkie sunk his money into. He knew my Grandfather wouldn't mind if he kept it."

Kat looked at the box thoughtfully, her interests piqued. It sure would be a hoot to see what the Trio were like when they were still kicking. Raising a dark brow she asked nonchalantly. "You got a projector anywhere?"

As it turned out they did in fact have a projector. It was sitting under another huge pile of dust nearby. Some of it's parts were rusted and overworked but it looked like it was up for the challenge. Carefully carrying it down along with the Christmas decorations, Kat wondered why the damn thing was so heavy. One small trip and she would have a ton of tin on her chest. Casper followed behind, struggling with the large chest of pictures in addition to the decorations.

"Hey Bucket, find any decorations?" her father turned the corner with a chipped pink mug of cocoa steaming in his hands. His smile wavered when he saw what was in her arms. Wiping a finger across the relic's filthy chassis he frowned. "I don't think this one is going on the tree."

Kat snickered loudly, which turned into a sharp wave of sneezes as the dust on the machine was disturbed. After her body had calmed down she explained in a wheezy tone. "Me and Casper found a bunch of old photos upstairs. Apparently they were all taken by Stinkie."

James stared thoughtfully at his cocoa. The therapy sessions, at first fruitful, had run dry and quickly reverted back to as they were when they started. He supposed it was that he had counted on the Trio to open up to him gradually, but being themselves they pretended as if nothing happened. Scrunching up his face he decided that even something as casual as family photographs could help the process along.

"I'll go get a sheet to use as a screen." Kissing the top of Kat's head he turned to the young ghost and asked. "Casper is it okay that I invite your Uncles? I'm sure that they'll enjoy it."

Casper furrowed his invisible brow and gave a reluctant nod. "Okay, but I'll have to prepare the snacks beforehand."

With a shared nod and a smile, Dr Harvey walked off to grab a clean sheet from the laundry. When he got there he found three certain apparitions riffling through his underwear using scissors to cut his clothing into risqué shapes. He decided to confront them with this in a later session.

After some careful persuasion that left the brothers angrily cursing the Doctor from their seats, the slide-show was ready to begin. The Trio had agreed to come, believing that it was a slide-show about the Harvey family and had only shown up when Casper offhandedly mentioned popcorn.

"Uncle Stinkie?" Casper asked his second uncle, who turned to him with a bored expression. "Remember this?" He held out the picture chest dramatically, watching as the flashbulb memory kicked in.

"Holy hell!" The ghost exclaimed, a massive buck toothed grin stretching across his face. "I remember Dad giving me the camera when I was fifteen!" His eyes narrowed suspiciously and glared even harder at his nephew. "You didn't peek in did'ya?"

"No sir!" Casper sweared, doing mock salute. Of course he didn't take a peak. Kat was the one who opened it after all. Gesturing to the projector, he asked. "You still remember how to use this?"

"This is gonna be a riot." Stretch muttered under his breath, already digging into the popcorn.

Stinkie got the projector working within in seconds. After a vigorous blast of dust, photo pockets and at some point a naked flame, the machine roaring and ready for use. Stinkie pawed through the many rows of images, stopping abruptly at particularly old looking one. Slipping it in fast enough that the edges creased, Stinkie embarrassedly straighten it out before he continued.

"_Darling, are you sure it's safe?" the young woman asked her new husband, looking fearfully at the contraption. Her relatives were off to the sides, afraid that the damned thing would steal their souls. Her groom had convinced her to let one of his inventions join in the festivities but had no idea what it could be._

"_Don't worry love." The McFadden smiled softly, kissing the top of her head. "If it works we'll have an ever lasting memory of this day." Sharing a mutual beam of happiness, the couple turned their head to look straight on at the metal oddity._

"_Don't move for ten minutes love." He whispered through gritted teeth._

The image was filthy with large brown holes at the edges, unable to escape the clutches of time like it's descendants and depicted a young man and woman at a wedding. The brothers gasped as they recognised the couple immediately.

"That's Dad!" Fatso blurted out, ignoring as his bag of cookies fell onto the coffee table. "He's got the 'stache and everything!"

"Yeah..." Stretch eyed the picture, seemingly in deep thought. The bride in the photo must have been their mother but something was very off about her. "Don't remember Ma having her hair that light though."

"She dyed it a lot after she went gray early." Stinkie shrugged, flipping through the chest for an other significant photo. Quite a few were experimental snaps of nature scenes and accidental recordings, particularly from a period where the camera had been stuck under a couch cushion and snapped whenever somebody sat down. At least the McFadden's can boast that they got a photo of the governor's behind.

He never had the heart to get rid of them, even if they were terrible. Some weird sentimental value overtook whenever he attempted to dump them. Gliding his fingers over the back row, he pulled out a photo that jogged a very hilarious memory.

"_Sapphire..." The nervous young man stuttered, wringing his hands so that his dress shirt was a mass of wrinkles. He was suddenly very aware of his naked upper lip. Damn his brothers! They had crept into his bed chambers as he dreamt of this very moment and had stealthily shaved his face bare. He now look so much younger than usual, making his status as the youngest brother even more obvious. "I've been meaning to ask you something."_

_His beloved, his precious jewel, lifted her head and raised a questioning brow. "What ever could it be that irks you so?"_

"_Well I had been ruminating upon this for a while and I believe it is time." He pulled the small black box from his coat pocket and heard the sharp gasp exit his soon-to-be Bride's mouth. Balancing himself on one knee he popped the question. "Will you marry me?"_

_The very second she said "Yes", three very loud and very drunk men came bursting through the door into the garden. All three had been spying on the event and had planned their actions ahead of time. Trailing behind them was countless numbers of balloons, streamers, and confetti._

"_Congratulations JT!" Stretch bellowed loudly as if he was presenting his brother with an award. He used an upturned beer bottle as a pretend microphone, rapidly leaning it back and forth between the couple. "You are officially the first McFadden to get hitched in this generation. Tell me brother, how do ya feel?"_

"_Well Stretch I feel ver- HEY WAIT A MOMENT!" breaking out of the jest, JT launched himself at his eldest brother, grappling him to the ground as Fatso and Sapphire danced gaily around a topiary. Unbeknownst to all was that Stinkie had snuck his camera out and had timed the shutter to go off within seconds._

_The loud **click** went off as the second brother dove right into the roughhousing. JT demanded that he'd burn the photo but Stinkie claimed that he had lost it and laughed every time he retrieved it from it's hiding place._

This photograph was in much better condition than it's predecessor but had poor contrast, almost leaving the background in a flare of white. It depicted two men currently in a massive fist fight with one about to join, his form caught blurred mid-air. A young woman and a larger man had linked arms and were dancing around a large garden plant. A tornado of confetti was blown around them and at the right-most edge peeked the outline of a balloon.

The moment it graced the screen, all apparitions collapsed into echoing cackles, Casper included. It became so intense that the poltergeists fell onto the floor and started to squirm and writhe as more waves of laughter followed. It caught the Harvey's by surprise. From their perspective it was a jumble of craziness, although typical of the Trio was still very confusing.

"Oh God!" Stretch wiped away a tear, still laughing incessantly. "That was a crazy afternoon!"

"What happened?" Kat smirked, the ghosts' laughter becoming infectious.

"Okay, okay..." Fatso took a deep breath, trying to temper his own bellows. "Basically we learned that JT was gonna propose to his gal."

"That being my mom." Casper added from his place on the floor.

"And we thought 'Hey, if our little brother is getting married before all of us, we should at least make it memorable'. So we shaved off his 'stache and got hammered just before he took the arrow in the knee. Guess he weren't too happy."

"He broke my arm in the melee." Nodded the eldest brother, his face shifting into something more sincere. "Always knew he had it in him."

From there the six continued analysing the photos. Stinkie manned the projector, choosing from how much sentimentality he got from them. Some were hilarious (such as the Trio engaging in some childhood mischief), some were more somber (their father in his later years relaxing by the fireplace), other were just plain odd (Stinkie swears that he'd never seen the prison cell before), and predictably some were shots of smelly objects (nicely plated cheese and a swarm of dung beetles). As the hours ticked away and the chest becoming lighter and lighter, Stinkie began fiddling with a secret compartment inside the chest's lid. Pulling out a few pockets larger than before, he froze in place as he slid a solitary photo free.

"Hey Stink!" Stretch's voice broke the barrier, shaking in fist impatiently. "I was nearly enjoying myself here."

The middle brother shook his head free of paralysis and explained. "A few years before I went stiff Dad taught me how to add colour to these things. 'Course it was even more expensive than usual and I had to sell my first car to make one of these...". He stopped short, silently placing the image into it's place in the projector. Every one gasped.

"_Is he all right?" Sapphire whispered, her energy completely drained. She attempted to sit up, only for gravity and her tiredness to pull her back down._

"_All right?" the young man asked brashly, clutching the newborn in his blood soaked sleeves. "He's better than all right! He's a McFadden ain't he?" He looked down at the child and grinned widely. The poor kid was a month too early (much like himself he pondered) and was so thin that he was damn near see-through. And all he could swaddle the poor thing in was his dinner coat._

_Sapphire had slipped into labour that night with nobody, not even her good-for-nothing midwife present, and had to give birth in the unheated unclean bedroom of her brother in-laws with only a single unskilled man to assist her. It was a surprise that she was still hanging on._

"_Hey bro, you disappeared and Dad's wondering if- AAH!" Fatso shrieked, startling the two adults and disturbing the baby. The tiny pink face screwed into an awful frown and let out a blood curdling cry. Stinkie swiftly followed the noise down the hall and gave an equally loud yell when reached the room and saw the amount of blood staining the sheets._

"_Good job numskulls! You woke up Junior here!" Stretch scolded, briefly forgetting his volume. He rocked the newborn slowly, muttering an old Irish lullaby under his breath. The cries gradually weakening until he was able to turn to his brothers and ask. "Go tell dad he's a grandpa and tell that brother of ours to get his cowardly ass up here. Oh! And Stinkie get your camera, I don't wanna forget this."_

_The second McFadden brother sped off, wobbling from nausea and shock. Had he'd stayed a few seconds longer he would have captured the rare sight of his older brother giving a genuine smile._

"What... happened?" Dr Harvey was the first to react, instantly focusing on the large splotches of red marring the crisp white clothing of the couple and worrying that the image depicted a murder. A woman with white-blonde hair lay on a grey mattress, red soaking her skirt and sheets. The young skinny man with brown hair was partly obscured as his face was directed towards whatever was in the small black bundle supported by the two's arms. Though he would have to hand it to Stinkie, the colour usage in the photo was immaculate.

"That's me!" Casper gasped, pointing a translucent finger at the bundle. "That's my Mom and Dad when I was born!" The young ghost's eyes were flushed with excitement that he was unable to contain. Holding his arms close to his body, he feared that he may just combust from sheer glee.

The eldest McFadden coughed awkwardly, directing his eyes away from his nephew. "That ain't JT kid. That's me." The other five turned to him with confused stares, hundreds of possibilities swimming through their heads on what it implied.

"I... Grandpa told me that my Dad was there." the friendly ghost said, his voice trailing off into befuddlement.

Stretch cleared his voice, more uncomfortable that ever. "Look Short-sheet. You Dad was there at the start sure, I had to drag him away from a party to do so. But when the blood and various fluids started flowing he ran out the room and straight into the john." He took a generous gulp of whatever was in his glass and wiped his mouth bitterly, his voice becoming more venomous with each syllable. "And I couldn't just _**leave**_ her. Oh no instead of grabbing the matron I stupidly decided to stay, with the excuse that just in case she had a panic attack I could help. I stayed longer than I should of and I ended up bringing you into the world."

The room became colder than normal. The youngest ghost was in a state trying to absorb all of the new information. The living persons were staring at their shoes,feeling that they had intruded on a personal matter.

Fatso was the first to speak up. "JT never did like talking about it. Said it made him feel... emasculated. I mean if I ran out on my kid's birth cus I had to hurl, I'd be pretty damn embarrassed." He fumbled over his words, remembering how his younger brother demanded that no word should to spoken.

"Plus your Ma's rep was at stake to." Stinkie mentioned idly, beginning to tidy up the loose photographs. "Ladies weren't supposed to pop with only the brother-in-law present. Had word got out that Stretch here was the midwife, you'd bet that some prissy socialite would start spreading slander."

"Like what?" he dared to ask.

"Like you might be a bastard like Stretch."

The phrase was so casual, so blunt that Casper swore that he felt his long-gone heart skip a beat. "A what?" He replied, suddenly seething with anger. It wasn't like him to get angry for no reason, but the implication of the phrase sent shockwaves straight to his nerves.

Stinkie must have noticed this and deliberately rolled his eyes at the spook's distemperment. "It's not like that Short-sheet! Look Stretch was born earlier than he was supposed to. 'Course this caused rumours that maybe our folks were... looser than everyone thought. Ruined any chance of our Ma making friends for a long time."

"They only really accepted her after I came around." Fatso confirmed, recalling a gaggle of pastel ladies that bombarded their Mother every afternoon. Turning to Casper he stated. "Course when the same thing happened to _**your**_ Ma..."

"That's pretty unfair." Kat interjected, folding her arms across her chest. "Not to mention stupid. Babies are born premature all the time, how come they thought it meant that the girl was unfaithful?"

"It's part of the time period they grew up in. People relied on assumptions more then they'd admit." Her father explained, his cocoa long since lost it's warmth. "Traditionally if the couple conceives on the wedding night and the babe is born earlier than nine months after the wedding, it caused many to suspect that something was awry. In other words, potentially conceived out of wedlock."

The eternal twelve year old was almost shaking with anger, his eyes glowing red and spit frothing at the sides of his mouth. He was exuding an aura of scariness that would have made the Trio proud had it not been for the subject matter. Stretch dove forward, grabbing the shorter spook by the scruff of his neck and shaking him until the livid atmosphere settled.

"Listen Bulb-head!" he snapped. "Your Ma never got the same treatment as ours. We made sure of that. Any pompous jackass making comments behind her back got thrown to the dogs. So it ain't something to get steamed about. Capisce?"

Casper, now mellowed out, nodded limply. His little burst of anger really took it out of him. "Sorry for getting mad there. It's just that when Uncle Stinkie said... that word I just got _**so**_ angry."

The therapist thought over the new information carefully before expressing his opinion. "Perhaps your reaction is a remnant of your time? Another may have called you it, even indirectly when you were still alive. I'd imagine that it would invoke the same response."

"I guess... I get some weird nightmares sometimes, well now that I think about it they might be memories, I'm not sure." He was tripping over his words, trying not to be scared by his own recollections. "I see a very tall man with a handlebar moustache and a woman with dark hair and a blue dress sitting in giant armchairs."

"Ma wore blue dresses all the time." Fatso mumbled, still digging up knowledge of their dear mother.

"_Dear do you really think it's fair on Jonathan-Thomas to rob him of his son?" The woman spat venomously, furiously knitting oversized blue booties for the babe shuffling in his bassinet on the floor._

_The man, the one with the handlebar moustache, argued right back at her. "We do not even know if the child is even his to begin with! Look at those eyes!" He jabbed a finger dangerously close to the boy's violet-blue spheres. "Those are not a trait of your family, nor mine!"_

"_All babes have blue eyes, it is simply some are more oddly coloured. Besides Sapphire would be so distraught if she lost him."_

_The man grunted like an annoyed boar. "Girl has been on her last legs for a while, doubt her nor the boy will survive till Spring."_

"And they'd keep going back and forth on how I didn't belong in the house and that I should be abandoned at the road like a runty dog. I can't do anything but watch them as they talk and just as the guy with the moustache goes for me, another figure comes in and carries me out of the room. End of dream."

"_Mother, Father?" An uncharacteristically formal man entered the room. His raunchy tongue and crude humour belonging well away from his parent's ears and he preferred to keep it that way. "Have you seen Casper? JT is tearing the workshop apart looking for him."_

_The older couple took upon a sweeter tone as their eldest drew near. Mother was the first to comment. "It is so bitterly cold today! We brought him in here so he wouldn't get a chill like in that draughty workshop."_

_The son nodded obediently, inside glaring at his parents. He knew perfectly well what they were doing. His father's arm was poised to make a grab at the child's head while the fear in his mother's eyes told him that the intention was violent. He walked in on the same ritual when a cousins' son was born, he was graced with darker skin than his parents and needless to say he hasn't been seen since. Walking over with a stride gained from years of dodging verbal bombardment, he picked up the bassinet a bit too quickly and strode out the door like the room caught fire._

The room became quieter after Casper finished his tale. The previous aura of anger was now replaced with melancholy. It now became clear that although the four ghosts retained some very fond memories of their lives, they also harboured some not-so fond ones as well. The most controversial seemed to be caused by Lord and Lady McFadden, if the implications of adultery and child abandonment were to be taken with a grain of salt.

"I think." James rose to his feet calmly, still holding his mug of cocoa. "That is enough strenuous activity for today. I'll help clean up the mess."

Kat and three of the ghosts floated away gloomily, Stinkie staying behind to sort his photographs back into the box. Dr Harvey figured that any of them wouldn't want to be disturbed for the night. As he began taking down the white bed sheet from it's place on the wall, he heard Stinkie grumbling confusedly at one of the coloured photos.

"Doc! Don't take that down yet."

"What's wrong?"

The second McFadden brother stared intensely at the photo, suddenly grabbing a handful of the other coloured ones and flicking his eyes over all of them. "I knew Stretch meant something, I didn't think he meant this!" He jammed the offending image into the projector, anger and confusion irradiating off his form.

The photo was relatively normal. Downright pleasant even.

A young man with a handlebar moustache stood next to a woman sitting primly in a garden chair as two toddlers were restrained by their parent's hands. The colours were amazing, taking advantage of the Spring-time flora in the garden and highlighting the features of the people. It was one of the nicely shot photos the doctor had ever seen. He couldn't really understand why it vexed the ghost so much.

"Ma had green eyes." Stinkie stated in a stony voice, pointing his finger at the woman, the same one from the old wedding photo, and scowled. "She has purple ones. Like Stretch."

"Oh." Was all that James could express. He was getting a vague idea of what was happening. "Is there a noticeable shift in the photographs?"

Stinkie shuffled the photos like a deck of cards, replacing the one in the projector with a later shot. "This one was taken after Fatso was born and shows her with the green eyes we know. But this one." He swapped it out again with a bit more urgency. "Before Fatso was born, shows her with purple."

The two were left silent for a while afterwards. There were other features that differed between the women. The one with purple eyes had lighter hair and sharper features that could be easily associated with the eldest McFadden brother, while the second woman had softer features and much smaller build more closer to the forth.

"Stinkie, did your father remarry?"

"What? Heck no! The one with green eyes has always been Ma. But... " he trailed off, expressing as much assurance as possible. His eyes wavered over to the first photo. "I always wondered how come JT looked so different."

Dr Harvey hummed thoughtfully before concluding. "Never made him any less of your brother. It was very common for widowers to marry a relative of their deceased wife. It was a means of keeping the family fortunes tied together. It's likely that your father never mentioned it because he didn't want to upset you."

The spook sighed, tiredly putting away the photos back into their chest. He would have to approach his brothers on the revelation later. "Well this was a peachy. Look at some photos and suddenly we're on an episode of Maury." he muttered, packing the last of the photographs into their pockets.

As the white sheet was removed for a second time, Dr Harvey bid farewell to the McFadden brother and was about to go into the kitchen to heat up some more cocoa when he heard a muted voice behind him.

"It was nice though... I don't remember as much as the others. Stretch remembers lots because he was so angry at his life. Fatso was such a Momma's boy it's no wonder that he'd remember every detail 'bout her. But I... don't remember a lot. I guess other than playing with my brothers I had a rather uneventful life. I remember these photos though. I remember every single one of 'em."

James breathed deeply in empathy. "You life was plenty eventful. Your photos show it. It's just that you have a harder time recollecting than your brothers." He saw Stinkie's head drop in an unusual display of vulnerability and asked. "Do you want some cocoa?"

Although unable to consume the hot drink, the ghost happily followed him to the kitchen.

**Note: That went emotional real quickly. Sorry if I was a bit too fast on the uptake. Please leave a review and your hopes for what comes next. :D**


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